Chapter Twenty-Nine
Why is Beth wearing a houndstooth blazer with elbow patches and a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses?”
Mia shushed me. “She’s here to help. And it’s better than what she was wearing earlier, those CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT? pajamas, with two soup cans holding hands.”
“Are you really one to talk?” I looked down at Mia’s novelty tee: I’M GRUMPY CAT IN HUMAN FORM.
She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Beth’s going to present some of her main findings from her senior seminar. I saw what she was studying and thought it could be useful, especially with everything going on.” Beth had a 4.0 GPA and was a dual major in psychology and neuroscience.
“Good afternoon, class,” Beth said as she handed us some freshly printed pages.
Mia groaned. I laughed.
“Before I begin, I have some questions for you. Who here is in the habit of self-sabotaging?”
Mia and I looked at each other and shrugged.
“Okay, let me put this another way, with more tangible examples. Please raise your hand if you’ve ever kept quiet in a meeting or a class even when having a good idea . . . or conformed to a group’s way of doing something even though you had an opinion on how to do it better but were too scared to speak up. Has anyone turned down a great opportunity because you didn’t think you were good enough?”
Mia raised her hand. Ironically, I was too timid to raise my hand to admit all of this, even though I was here among friends.
Beth looked at me. “Or . . . has anyone praised you for an accomplishment, and you wrote it off as luck? Or have you ever dismissed a compliment, saying ‘It was nothing,’ or even criticized yourself right after as a way of deflecting praise or showing humility?”
I nodded. Yes, fine, you got me. I was guilty of all of it. Slowly, I raised my hand.
Beth nodded at Mia and me. “These are examples of micro self-sabotaging events triggered by something researchers noted over forty years ago, imposter phenomenon. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of other examples of this. But these are the ones that I’m guilty of too.”
She continued, “Psychotherapy experts at Georgia State University started studying this in the seventies and honestly, there really should have been many more follow-up studies. We don’t have a ton of time to delve deep here, and I’m sharing high-level what I’ve researched in my classes, but a certified therapist or medical professional would know more. I do have some guidelines to help you think about ways to cope and combat this imposter phenomenon, also known as imposter syndrome, in the meantime.”
“Preach, Professor Beth!” Mia closed her eyes and raised both hands in the air. We all laughed.
“First, you need to admit it’s a problem. Research suggests that it is more prevalent in women, especially in high-achieving households and in marginalized communities.”
Yes, I was in all of those categories. Check, check, and check.
“Many high achievers are both driven and debilitated by the comparison game. Setting goals and targets that you may eventually reach but don’t appreciate once you’re there is unfortunately common.”
Internally, I was screaming. Not at her, but at myself. Beth was so right. I was a successful author and a sought-out career expert. I should be proud of my accomplishments and not feel like I need to show proof of expertise or a certificate of authenticity with every business or professional interaction. I’d carried self-doubts my entire corporate career, and they’d followed me into my author life too.
When would it end?
Mia raised her hand. “How about social media? We’re all in the practice of projecting the best version of our lives, our highlight reels of all the good things. And I still knowingly compare my actual self to other people’s perfect online lives, even when I know better, and feel bad about myself for not measuring up.”
I nodded and added, “There were lots of bad days when I thought my writing career was already over even when things were going well just because I was comparing myself to others, and seeing my friends who stuck with their jobs rise in the ranks at their companies while I stepped away from corporate life . . . it was a lot.”
Would it ever end?
Or . . . maybe it was up to me to end it?
Beth listened and nodded. “I have one more thing to add that’s not in my senior thesis. While we’ve talked about the internalization of bad feelings, let’s also note that it’s the environments themselves that are set up in a way to perpetuate these feelings.”
It was true, this wasn’t only about self-esteem and negative thoughts about myself. I nodded. “Yes! Schools, workplaces, and institutional cultures need to be reexamined, because it’s not just about fixing individual people, right? It’s about fixing the systemic bias and cultural inertia all around us so that marginalized people can feel like they not only belong but that they can thrive.”
Beth exclaimed, “One hundred percent. Full stop.” Picking up a legal pad and flipping through it, she concluded, “I think I’ve covered a lot for today’s BethTalk.” She tucked a pen behind her ear and looked at Mia. “Is this what you were thinking? How I could help?”
Mia jumped up from the couch and hugged Beth. “It was great! Everything you just said resonated with me so much. What about you, Lily?” Mia asked.
They both looked at me.
I bobbed my head. “It was like you were inside my head with a magnifying glass. I didn’t like it one bit. But if there’s one thing I can do now, it’s start small with the things you’ve identified and chip away at them. You have to start somewhere, right?”
Mia asked, “What are you going to do first?”
“Well, we’re about to navigate uncharted territory with my PR crisis. But I’ll start with refraining from my self-limiting, undermining language.”
Mia’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly, it’s so hard to do that, with Korean parents like ours. When you’re young, they tell you to be humble and quiet, and to strive for perfection . . . it’s just so ingrained in you.”
I chimed in. “But they’re the worst offenders sometimes—my parents’ whole group of friends are constantly bragging and showing off accomplishments. And the comparison game they’re always perpetuating is damaging in so many ways.”
Mia sighed. “I’m pretty sure my strict dad was the cause of my self-doubts. It was all criticism with that guy, and zero praise. I was never good enough.” She leaned back in her chair, contemplative in her thoughts. “But we need to break this cycle somehow.”
My parents were the same way. My anxiety first reared its ugly head in high school, and since then, I’d been constantly battling bouts of insecurity, both professionally and romantically. I worked twice as hard to prove to everyone I was a superstar employee, and that left zero time for exploring romantic relationships.
It was time for a change. “I won’t downplay my accomplishments, not anymore. I should be proud of what I’ve done with my life. I had a successful corporate career and took a big chance by leaving it to become a consultant and an author. I worked hard to get to where I am, damn it, and the successes I’ve had aren’t the accomplishments of my parents. They’re mine. It’s time that I toot my own horn. Others might not like it, but as the saying goes, ‘Haters gonna hate.’”
Beth squealed. “You are the walking, talking, real-life version of T-Swizzle’s ‘Shake It Off’ and I’m here for it!”
Mia exchanged glances with me and I cough-laughed. “But this is all good to think about, especially now. Thank you for the helpful, motivational BethTalk.”
She beamed. “I’m glad I could help someone with my research.”
“Shall we do the cheer?” Mia said, giddy with anticipation.
One drunken night, all three of us had come up with a ridiculous “rah rah” thing that Mia was actually excited about. The timing seemed more appropriate than ever. She put out her hand, Beth stacked her right one on it, and I placed mine on hers.
“On the count of one, two, three!” Mia cheered.
“Let! That! Shit! Go!” we chanted, then broke formation.